


you don't need to run from me (i won't i promise)

by dandelionslute



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Geralt doesn't want to lose his bard, M/M, aroused!Jaskier, black eyes are sexy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22661941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionslute/pseuds/dandelionslute
Summary: Geralt thinks his black eyes will scare Jaskier off. They don't.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 302





	you don't need to run from me (i won't i promise)

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know how many chapters this will have  
> it started as a one-shot on tumblr

He never lets Jaskier follow him on a hunt, into a fight. He never lets Jaskier anywhere near this type of Fucked Up Situation. He never lets Jaskier see how the potions he drinks turn his skin chalk-snow-ash-white, his eyes poison-empty-dead-black eyes. What the hell would Jaskier think if he saw Geralt like this? With skin so pale you’d mistake him for a corpse, and eyes so black you’d think them a soulless abyss, which into Jaskier might _fall-fall-fall_ and never climb his way out of, trapped in damnation forever?

No. He leaves Jaskier behind, everytime. In bars or beds or brothels. He doesn’t need to see Geralt like this. That would surely be one way to drive away the only worthy travel companion he’s ever had.

So it’s all the same, when Geralt tells Jaskier to stay put in town while he takes care of the banshee-nightwraight-kikimora, _whatever it is, they’re all the same too._

But Jaskier, no. He doesn’t fucking listen, does he? Does he ever listen? Geralt tries to remember a time he ever did listen. His memory escapes him.

Because -

Jaskier is standing in front of them and a bloodied basilisk lays between them and Geralt stares Jaskier down like he’s a fucking deer and Geralt’s the one with the gun.

“Um. Your eyes.” Jaskier is speechless, breathless. There’s no golden yellow left, no pupil, just black - swirling, spinning, vortex of black that _consumes_ Jaskier’s soul, and he finally pulls himself back into Earth. “What….”

“It’s the potions,” Geralt rasps, and he’s high on adrenaline and his fists are clenched and his breath is rapid. “I didn’t want to you see, me.. like this. I know they’re horrible.”

Jaskier breathes. Geralt smells it.

“Horrible?” Jaskier whisper-asks, surprised and confused and _holy hell aroused._

“They aren’t.. normal,” Geralt replies. The air is thick with blood and breathing.

“Normal?” Jaskier chuckles, but he’s scared. “And what other part of you is?”

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Geralt says all too quickly, trying to justify that he’s still him, his eyes might be dead and his skin might be whiter than fire ash, but he’s still him. The ~~monster~~ man Jaskier knows.

“Afraid…” Jaskier murmurs, closing space between them with sure but shaky footsteps that drag him forward beyond his control. “I’m not afraid. I know you.”

Silence.

“I like them.”

Silence.

“They’re…. _mysterious._ ” A joke. Geralt doesn’t like the joke. He wraps a hand around Jaskier’s wrist and drags him close.

Jaskier almost faints.


End file.
